BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Sherlock: Or Nah?

Request for _idkmaya

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"So, you're new to the London area?" asked John Watson, one of two men who had saved you from a grotesque murder scene waiting to happen.

"Yes, and my first experience here already has me missing Bristol," you chuckled nervously, horrid flashbacks already occurring. You could still feel the gun pressed to your head, and the cool blade that was ran across your body as a threat. Your mind was trying to block out the trauma, but you still shivered from the chill that dripped from the cement in the room and the heavy breath of the man who had kidnapped you.

"Tea?"

You opened your eyes, loosening your shoulders and fists, and smiled kindly at the older lady as she handed you a mug. "Thank you," you said, sipping it lightly and taking a deep breath. You checked the time on your phone - 11:11pm. I wish I was back at home in bed you thought, sighing and suddenly feeling the exhaustion from the day settle on your eyelids.

"We'll take you back to your hotel soon, just as soon as I'm done asking you some questions," said Sherlock, appearing from down the hall and addressing you as if he had just read your mind.

You slumped your shoulders and groaned, although your tiredness went away at the sight of him. "More questions?"

"I saved your life Ms. (y/l/n), the least you can do is respond to a few more questions for me," he said seriously.

"'Ms. (y/l/n)'? Getting fancy are we?" you teased, and Sherlock wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion.

"I'm just calling you by your name?" he said, giving you an odd look. You just laughed - his seriousness cracked you up, which is the first thing you noticed when he had shot the guy, untied you, and didn't even acknowledge you when you thanked him breathlessly. The whole ride home he had not said a word, just muttered under his breath and moved his eyes back and forth as if he was reading something in his mind. You had soon realized he was all work and no play, and a really fun guy to mess with. Plus he was kind of cute. Okay maybe a little more than kind of.

"Okay, go ahead Mr. Holmes," you responded, biting your lip to hold back a laugh.

He cleared his throat. "Did you know Mr. Fisher?"

"No, not really," you replied. Sherlock just stared at you, as did John, and you realized they were waiting for you to explain. "Oh, right, well, he was the mailman for our building. Usually saw him once or twice a week while I was getting coffee or something. A nice bloke, just smiled, tipped his hat, and said good morning."

"Did he ever talk to any other people when he came?"

"Sure, the barista who was making my coffee. He was always in a hurry though."

"Hmm," sounded Sherlock, pausing a moment to think. "Well thanks for nothing," he said, standing up and grabbing the car keys from the table.

"Nothing?" you asked. "I just answered the questions you asked me as best as I could."

"Well I regret to inform you Ms. (y/l/n), that your best was not good enough. Unfortunately your pea sized brain could not retain anything valuable to this case, therefore you are useless. So we'll be taking you home now," he said, shrugging on his coat.

Pea sized brain? Useless? Normally you would be hurt, but this guy was hilarious. He was so serious all the time, as if he was in starring in some dramatic TV show. You looked him up and down, admiring his tall figure and the way he held himself, making him more mysterious and alluring than he already was. "You know the least you could say is 'Thank you for wasting your time here when you could have been back at your hotel sipping wine and reading a good book'," you responded teasingly.

He looked to be thinking for a second. "No, the least I could say is 'Bye', a three letter word instead of a 23 word sentence. Tell me, did you do well in school with counting skills like that?"

"Tell me, do you have many friends with an attitude like that?" you spat back, crossing your arms in defiance.

"No," you heard John mutter under his breath, and Sherlock shot him a glare. "Well it's true," he defended.

"Do you want a ride home or no?" asked Sherlock, obviously trying to threaten you with a long walk home on your own.

"Do you want to go on a date or no?" you asked back, and you surprised not only Sherlock and John, but yourself as well.

"Buh-ji-di-I already have a date. My, umm, birthday. January 6th, 1981," he stumbled out awkwardly. You just stared at him in stunned silence. You glanced at John who was slowing back out of the room awkwardly and giving you an apologetic look. Sherlock on the other hand, looked as if he had just found out the world was going to end. His eyes moved back and forth rapidly before landing on you with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

"You know, for a world famous detective, you really are bad at taking hints," you chuckled. As awkward as it had been with him not answering you, you surprisingly didn't care. It was obvious how off guard you had caught him, and it was cute to see his calm and collected demeanor slip away in an instant. Like you had said before, the guy was hilarious.

Suddenly his face became serious and he stood a little taller. "I'll have you know that I am the best detective there ever was and ever will be. I take hints even when there aren't any hints. I see clues that the best detective tips and tricks in the world could not see."

"Okay," you said, stepping closer to him. "Well did you see when we first met, well when you saved me, I thanked you over and over again because I wanted you to notice me just once. Or in the car ride here when I kept trying to get you to join John and I's conversation. Or when I kept minusculely flirting with you, hoping you would pick up some sort of hint. Or, and here's the cherry on top, when I just asked you to go on a date with me. Did you pick up any of those clues Mr. Holmes? Did you? Because if you had, I don't believe you would have responded with your birthday when I asked you for a date."

He cleared his throat and looked over your shoulder. "No. I did not."

"Exactly. See, you may be the best detective in the world when it comes to murders, but not when it comes to relationships." He didn't say anything, and he didn't have to. You were on a roll. Never had you been this confident when talking to a man, but then again, Sherlock was no normal man. "Now, I believe you owe me a date. 6:30pm, Friday night. No excuses."

And with that, you walked out of 221B, leaving the man who always had something to say, with nothing to say.

That was until you realized you still needed that ride home. You rolled your eyes, cursing yourself for never being able to successfully execute a dramatic leave fully. You trudged back up the stairs, poking your head inside the door to find Sherlock, frozen in place, exactly where you left him. "Hey, that handsome looking statue there, yeah, hi, I need a ride back to my place," you said.

He didn't move, and you were about to start yelling, when John came out of the kitchen, took one look at Sherlock, and grabbed the keys from the table. "I'll take you. He'll be like that for awhile."

A/N

So it's 4:30 in the morning where I'm at.
I'm wide awake.

It's been snowing off and on here, which is rare for where I'm at this time of year.

I'M HALFWAY THROUGH SEASON 5 OF SUPERNATURAL (please no spoilers). And not only do I have unhealthy addiction of the show, I have an unhealthy addiction of Castiel. I literally freak out every time he comes on screen. Oh man... don't even get me started.

Random: What's that one annoying thing that people do that just really ticks you off?

"I am mine. Before I am anyone else's."
- in